My Fiance's Gone, His Brother Stayed
I'm the so-called 'Lady of Glory'—yeah, that girl from the Archbishop's prophecy.
They said I'd bring endless glory to whatever Family I married into.
But at our engagement party, my fiancé—Marco Falcone—swaggered onstage holding hands with his pregnant stripper girlfriend.
Then he grabbed my wrist, dragged me forward, and made me kiss her hand.
"Lola's the only woman I'll ever call my wife," he said with a smug little grin. "If you still want this marriage, your De Luca money better support her and the baby."
I slapped him. Ripped the contract in half. Let it snow confetti.
"Please. I can marry someone a hundred times better."
Right when I was about to torch the entire Falcone Family, someone stepped out of the shadows.
Marco's older brother, Dante Falcone. The one who'd been injured, underestimated, and pushed aside.
He locked eyes with me, totally unfazed.
"Signorina De Luca, do your words still stand?"